


Midnight Trainings

by EriksTrueAngel



Category: Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies (2016), Pride and Prejudice and Zombies - Jane Austen & Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: F/M, Humor, Implied Masturbation, Movie inspired, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-21
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:51:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6309598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EriksTrueAngel/pseuds/EriksTrueAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two restless warriors take turns training at night in Netherfield. What they observe makes their feelings towards one another all the more confusing and bothersome. An extended look at what could have developed between Lizzy and Darcy while Jane was ill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. It all belongs to Jane Austen and Seth Grahame-Smith. Just borrowing the characters for my own amusement.
> 
> A/N: It could not be helped. To my readers who are reading my Once Upon a Time and Strange Magic stories do not fret! I will return to them but this little plot bunny just came up and bit me and I could not let it go. As for the lines from the movie, I did my best with my recollection, but I might revisit this once it is out on DVD. I hope you all enjoy this story and please don’t forget to leave a review! Thank you!
> 
> A/A/N: So... after my excitement of posting this story, I came to the realization that it's really long and would probably benefit from being split. I don't know if that's the reason it kept some people from reading it but I hope this helps!

Midnight Trainings

By: Erik’sTrueAngel

**Chapter 1**

_Insufferable man! Such haughtiness! Both he and Miss Bingley are fortunate I did not give them a taste of my dagger, courtesy of the Shaolin masters_.

Elizabeth Bennet was still fuming by the time she arrived in Jane’s room. She should have known the evening would not be as pleasant as she would have liked; not with the present company that the affable Mr. Bingley kept. Of course he could not help who his relations were, Elizabeth understood that quite well. But his friend… Now that was entirely different matter and how two people who were indeed quite polar opposites could be friends was a mystery!

Leaning against the closed door, Elizabeth shut her eyes and reflected on how this started with her refusal of playing cards. Mr. Hurst’s comment of how singular it was for her to turn down a hand was unfathomable to him, and while every inch of her body screamed at her to retaliate in a way that would be considered improper, she reigned in her desires and continued the pretense of politeness as society dictated she should behave. She responded she should read instead, which Caroline Bingley latched on and announced how she must be a great reader since she is not fond of cards.

Such censor and assumptions about her character! Elizabeth could only brush it off as civilly as she could until she chosen Sun Tzu’s _The Art of War._ To find such a treasure (despite it being an English translation) restored her faith that she could suffer the company for a while longer.

Alas! Fortune had other plans.

The Japanese that Caroline spoke (rather rudely she might add) caught Elizabeth off-guard as it intended to bring to light her “inferior” training of the deadly arts. Indeed, Elizabeth would not trade a single moment of her time in China. She was quite proud of her skills with the knife, but to be ridiculed and mocked in such a manner was insupportable. Elizabeth would never bring herself to speak Mandarin or any other form of the Chinese dialect to someone else less familiar with it. For Miss Bingley to hint at the obvious in their social status was to also recognize that _her_ training was very much the same as Jane’s, and to insult one was to insult the other. Elizabeth knew her sister was besotted with Mr. Bingley as he was with her if her suspicions were correct. However, thanks to his sister and friend, they reminded him that Jane was beneath them. She could only pray that if Mr. Bingley’s affections were true, then he would overlook the insinuations.

Taking a deep breath, Elizabeth glanced over to the bed and was relieved to see that Jane was fast asleep. The last thing she wanted was to explain why she had retired so soon or even share the conversations below. Let her angelic sister sleep with pleasant dreams of her dear Mr. Bingley.

Besides, she needed all the rest she could get to restore her strength and health. The sooner Jane was feeling better, the sooner they could quit Netherfield and return to Longbourne.

Moving around the room with light steps so as not to disturb the patient, Elizabeth went over to her trunk to retrieve her nightgown. Before she could undress herself her mind was too active to even think about going to bed. Her temper still had not dissipated and her body was itching for some kind of activity to put her at ease.

Returning back to her trunk, she was delighted to see that her training outfit was packed. Inside she found a note written by her sister Mary to remind her that idling is not becoming in a warrior and Papa would be displeased if she didn’t put some training in despite Jane’s illness. Ever the practical one Mary was Elizabeth was grateful she could have this respite. It would do her good to work out her frustrations.

The only problem remained was when and where. The where seemed appropriate that she should take to the gardens so she could have some seclusion whilst she meditated. The when was the issue. She knew the other occupants were awake and the last thing she wanted was to accidentally run into them. Even the servants she wished to avoid as well. 

Elizabeth was at an impasse but she was not one to give up simply because there were obstacles. No… She would wait for a suitable amount of time to pass when the household was in bed and then she will sneak out to train.

Satisfied with her plan, Elizabeth donned her attire and then took vigil at her sister’s bedside. The moonlight from the window washed over Jane’s features, making her skin glow prettily. There was some color returning to her pallor complexion, which signified that she would recover. How long was another question but it only reminded the second eldest of earlier in the day when Mr. Darcy dared to enter her sister’s sickroom.

So anxious she had been to see Jane that she barely registered Mr. Darcy’s presence when the physician arrived. She heard his announcement but she had been so focused on her sister and the doctor’s examination that she didn’t realize what Mr. Darcy had done until she heard the buzzing.

Her trained ears alerted her to the sudden intrusion of carrion flies. Their purpose was all too clear to her and the audacity of _him_ to presume that Jane was stricken had her instinctively clutch the folds of her gown. She refused to add any stress to Jane or shock the doctor with an immediate thrust of her knife in Mr. Darcy’s direction, so she settled on getting rid of the annoying impediment.

Breathing slowly she listened to what the doctor said, but she was flexing her muscles and waiting for the right moment to strike. Master Liu taught this lesson of patience when she had to do something similar; although, those insects had been poisonous and the stakes were slightly much higher and left no room for error.

Without breaking her concentration, her arm snapped outwards as her fingertips deftly captured a fly. Then a second, then a third. In all, she had six flies imprisoned in her fist as they brushed and flapped against her skin to escape. She had not looked behind her to see Mr. Darcy’s incredulous countenance but continued focusing on the doctor’s prognosis. The wound on Jane’s hand was from the gun backfiring and the fever was brought upon from the rain. It was as exactly as Elizabeth figured it would be from her sister’s own lips, and she was grateful that the doctor supported the conclusion.

The older man excused himself and Elizabeth turned around to find Mr. Darcy still standing over Jane’s bed with this stupid and dumbfounded expression. She would have laughed at him were it not for the serious and grave implications that ensued with the release of the carrion flies. _He_ thought Jane was a zombie? For a man claiming to be a colonel he should know the difference between a bullet wound and a bite. Her ire was already alit from the moment he entered the room, but his presumptions only served to stoke the flames as she glared at him explicitly.

“I believe these are yours,” she said coolly, raising her fist over his opened hand. He was expecting her to return his pets and so she shall. With a tightening grip, she squeezed the tiny messengers to death and dropped the bodies in his palm. Never once did she bat her eyes or change her visage as she strode out of the room. However, she did notice it did take Mr. Darcy a couple of minutes to leave the room, and if there was some kind of repercussion, there was none that followed. Mr. Darcy had been characteristically silent except for the accustomed stares in her direction.

If he thought he could intimidate her with a piercing look for killing his flies, then he did not know her at all. _Not that I would want him to know me_ , she had to remind herself. His behavior in Meryton was inexcusable and she would never forgive him for the unmerited insult. _Not handsome enough to tempt him? I wonder if he would feel the same if I returned the favor after altering his countenance to match his character._

Such violent musings kept her entertained and it made it easier to laugh at his expense. Unfortunately, she had no one else to share her reveries but knew Papa would enjoy it once she returned home.

However, she could not help but ponder if Mr. Darcy would dare try again to test to see if her sister had joined the undead. If he does… then he would find himself without a head. Let him suffer the same fate as the unmentionables if it meant keeping Jane safe. Maybe then it would be decided on who had the better skills—Kyoto or Shaolin?

The minutes ticked by and Elizabeth stood to walk over to the door to see if all was quiet. Opening the door just a crack, she listened intently for any signs that Netherfield was awake.

Everything seemed to be still.

Elizabeth grinned.

xxXXxx

After dismissing his valet for the night, Darcy slipped into his bed to read for a while. The candlelight’s shadow flickered across the book as he carefully traced the lettering of _The Art of War_. Why he had selected this particular tome he could not explain. Or better yet why he was compelled to conceal he even took it. He had read it enough to practically memorize it, but he could not stop thinking about the conversation he had with Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

_“Have you ever read it in its original Wu dialect?” she inquired._

_“No. I am afraid I had not the pleasure.”_

_With her brow arched, she haughtily replied in Chinese._

While Darcy had completed his combat training in Japan, he did learn enough Mandarin from the men who served under him who did theirs in China. It was a useful and practical skill to learn another language regardless of its lower station. Miss Bennet must have thought she was being clever in responding thusly, but he understood quite clearly what she said.

_“Then you have not read_ The Art of War _.”_

Darcy disliked being viewed as incompetent or even the implication of being such. To have his knowledge and experiences challenged was a blow he could not allow. A heavy flaw it was to strive in being the best, yet his pride demanded he came on top in whatever victories he obtained. It would not do to be anything less than highly competent.

And somehow this woman managed to make him feel slightly affronted with her arching looks and cutting words. 

Even now he could not find himself in enjoying the text in its English translation. He was now curious about the original edition and whether or not if what she had said was true. Was he missing something? Did he overlook the possibilities of how crudely an interpretation could be if not presented in its native tongue? 

Snapping the book shut, Darcy pursed his lips as he tossed the book aside. It would not do to continue this innocuous diversion. He will have to seek out the original text and see if the English version lived up to the expectations.

He snuffed out the candle and lay against the pillows. Sleep evaded him. 

Once again his thoughts were being plagued by Miss Bennet. Her long brown tresses pulled up with a wayward curl poised delicately against her swanlike neck, her pink petal lips so soft from afar, and her wide, luminous brown eyes that were bewitching and bold. He could not forget how fine her eyes were, especially after her battle with the zombies in Meryton, so bright and lively from the vigorous slaughter. Her combat movements—fluid, graceful, agile—a dance like any other with her arms twirling powerfully with each thrust of her daggers; her high kicks revealing the pale, firm, and lean legs that spoke of immeasurable strength. He was mesmerized, enchanted with her skills as a warrior but as a woman… She was a goddess, the reincarnate of Diana the huntress, standing over her prey with a triumphant glint in her countenance.

How he had failed to notice before he could not explain but she certainly captured his attention.

On the ride back to Bingley’s estate, Darcy could not stop envisioning Miss Elizabeth tearing through the hordes of dreadfuls, but imagining instead, sparring with her to test her limits. He imagined her skin to be soft and supple but the muscles hard and unyielding, a stark contrast in what society deemed feminine yet not so that would be unattractive. And those legs, wrapped powerfully around his waist, squeezing tightly to make him incapacitated, his hand roving upwards to grip the full shape of her… 

He nearly forgotten where he was when his thoughts took a sudden turn that he blushed hotly at the improper turn of events. He hardly knew her but his body responded at meeting its equal in skill. To soothe his ardor he looked to Caroline, knowing her training (despite going to Japan) was not up to par as the Bennet sisters. That provided momentarily relief but despite his best intentions not to think about Elizabeth Bennet… He often found himself recalling her bravery as she charged into the hall without question and admiring her lithe form. 

Somehow he _did_ manage to convince himself that he would never see her again. Her family was inferior to his own, their connections were wanting. And from what he gathered from Caroline… the Bennets did not possess a lot of wealth. It was rather unfortunate that a good breed of warriors did not have the same opportunities or the same discipline as someone of his caliber. Their only hope would be to marry well and to a man with enough funds to secure a decent future for the rest. Darcy glowered at the idea of Mrs. Bennet, the mother, having her sights set on Bingley for her eldest. Indeed, Jane Bennet was lovely but beauty could only have its limitations. No doubt Mrs. Bennet would even throw her other daughters at his own purse, being one of the richest bachelors in all of Derbyshire. He detested sycophants who wanted nothing more than an advantage in society, and Mrs. Bennet was terribly guilty of such crimes.

Nevertheless, his resolve was quickly tested when Jane Bennet fell ill and a letter was dispatched to Longbourne. Having Elizabeth hastened to Netherfield so swiftly was admirable in itself; her concern for her sister touching and seeing those fine eyes once again had rendered his voice effectively trapped. His eager eyes took their fill when she entered the room and he was suddenly bereft when she departed. Darcy never knew such feelings and he could not understand why this country girl, a low-born, could make him feel conflicted. She was of no consequence, insignificant. Not even her fighting skills could save her from her upbringing.

Forcing aside whatever _this_ was, Darcy had to look at the situation objectively. Jane Bennet was ill and they knew that zombies were lurking now in Hertfordshire. The inclement weather would have them springing out like the worms and maggots that they were. She came across a couple of zombies and that was all she had been able to speak before falling unconscious. Darcy saw the bandage around her hand and knew she was injured. To what degree he had not been able to investigate as Bingley quickly whisked her to a room, shouting for the nearest manservant to fetch a physician.

Simultaneously, the letter was written but from whose hand Darcy was unable to ascertain. He had been preoccupied trying to see to Miss Bennet himself to determine if she was afflicted but Bingley kept preventing him from doing so. Then Miss Elizabeth Bennet showed up and his thoughts were blindly distracted. Thankfully, his senses prevailed and he was able to pull Bingley away to inform him of his suspicions. Naturally, his dear friend would not hear of the possibility and Darcy could not fault him. Bingley was becoming quite enamored with Miss Bennet and her well-being was his top priority. However, one must put aside any feelings of attachment to focus on the larger picture:

The plague was present. No one was safe from infection. 

Despite Bingley’s protests, Darcy knew it fell upon his shoulders to make the tough call. It was a duty he did not take lightly and in the safety interest of everyone within these walls—Colonel Darcy must obey. And after what had happened the last time with Mrs. Featherstone… Darcy knew he could not err. 

Of course, it did not make it any easier for her sister to be in the same room. He had hoped once the physician arrived, Miss Elizabeth would step out but her loyalty and dedication to her sister kept her close by. Nonetheless, he had to check Miss Bennet himself with a little help.

Removing the top of the vial, he let loose his carrion flies. Never had these tiny soldiers failed him in his pursuit of the undead. Waiting calmly for the results, Darcy released his hidden dagger in his coat sleeve. Once a zombie was exposed, the reaction was always one of violence and Miss Jane Bennet would not be any different if she wanted to survive in her newly zombified form. It only grieved him that he might have to conduct the dirty business in front of her sister, but alas, this was a war and sometimes reticence was not possible. 

Therefore, to his astonishment, he had not expected his flies to meet their maker! In the lethal hand of Miss Elizabeth no less!

He did not know what to say when she approached him with her disapproving gaze, her brown eyes glittering with unrestrained anger, as she held up her closed fist and deposited his flies into his stretched hand. He wanted to explain his actions—as a warrior she should understand the predicament—but he could not find the words or his tongue when she walked away. Instead, he was alone with the sleeping Miss Jane (no longer in the danger of returning from the dead) and his decease flies. Darcy disposed the bodies in the closest waste basket and pulled out his handkerchief to clean off his hand before rejoining the other guests.

He was not angry at Miss Elizabeth but he did mourn the fact he would have to obtain more flies for the foreseeable future.

Dinner had been tense and awkward regardless of the amiable conversation being exchanged. Darcy could not tear his eyes away as Miss Elizabeth ate and conversed with Bingley and his sisters. Mr. Hurst was drinking (as usual) and offered little to the discussion, which was no great loss to anyone in the room. Darcy contributed when his response was required but kept to himself throughout the meal. He studied Miss Elizabeth’s profile carefully; noting how her smile would make her eyes sparkle with intensity and her laugh was musical and pleasing to the ears. It was hard to discern her affable character to the warring siren he had witnessed, but appearances could be quite deceiving, an experience he was completely familiar with.

A few times she turned in his direction, which he hastily glanced the other way lest he should be caught with his frank stares. There would be something unreadable in her expression but Darcy knew he must tread carefully. If she had a hint to his attention, then he could raise her hopes for a possible courtship. This, of course, was not an option and he loathed to break a young girl’s heart if she believed a romance was probable.

Despite his best efforts to dissuade Miss Elizabeth from believing an attachment, Darcy continuously found himself having her in his sight. Then the conversation in the parlor… He begrudgingly was grateful Caroline had spoken in Japanese and confused Miss Elizabeth, knowing full well she wouldn’t understand. It was a swift reminder in the difference of rank and how disappointed his relations would be if he should forge an alliance with Miss Elizabeth’s skills and connections.

He hadn’t taken into account that Miss Elizabeth was not a simpering waif and insulting her training would not have the desired affect that Caroline was seeking. She stood her ground and defended herself proudly, even so far as putting _him_ on notice about women and their accomplishments. Never had anyone, _anyone_ challenged Darcy about his opinion and he could not bring himself to be slighted.

Rather, his intrigue deepened as did the growing admiration.

It was disheartening to have her retire so soon and the room seemed less bright without her presence. He kept his disappointments to himself but Darcy couldn’t bring himself to enjoy the card game anymore. To his surprise, he was suddenly bored with the activity. He felt like reading and when it was time for the others to take their leave… Darcy quickly lifted _The Art of War_ and hid it in his coat. The cover was warm against his breast but he wondered if it was because Miss Elizabeth had been holding it not so long ago.

His heart pounded loudly, hoping no one would suspect his intentions. True it was only a book and there wasn’t anything illicit about it. However, he couldn’t stop thinking that it was Miss Elizabeth with this particular book clutched in her embrace and if found on his person… one might conjecture if it was something more.

Foolish, yes. But weren’t all fools irrational?

He had stashed the book away before his valet could help him ready for the night. In the back of his mind, he knew it was within his reach but he prayed to the heavenly Father above that Smith would not find it.

Then when it was safe for him to reveal this secret of his… Darcy could not bring himself to even read it, not with Miss Elizabeth’s teasing voice in his head. 

Now, Darcy couldn’t find the repose he required. The restlessness continued as his thoughts were assaulted with Miss Elizabeth Bennet and an emotion unlike any other began to take hold of him.

It was a stirring in his blood, a feverish yearning that was overwhelming and stifling his senses. Finding no relief in slumber, Darcy kicked off the bed-covers and strode towards the balcony doors. He was instantly greeted by the cool, crisp air as he seized the stone railing and closed his eyes, tilting his head back to allow the welcoming distraction penetrate and soothe the throbbing passions that enflamed him.               

Breathing deeply, Darcy gazed across the grounds with the moon acting as his guide. He almost laughed out loud as his faculties started to return to him. It was exactly the cure he needed to settle the raging beast that Darcy was about to turn away when he sighted the object of his fiery torment.

_Elizabeth_.

She was down in the garden, a flitting nymph, moving through the bushes and flowers. Her hair was piled high with several strands escaping the practical coif to plaster itself on her neck and face; her countenance sketched pensively, her dark brows knitted together; her chest rising and falling with each flare of her tiny nostrils.

His eyes widened at how close she was from where he stood that he froze instantly, afraid he might startle her. He could see the puffs of air coming from her lips, the sweat gathering at her temples. His gaze slipped down as he registered what she wore was hardly decent but a little chill went down his spine and right to his belly: a white-collared blouse with the top buttons undone and a long black leather stay over the shirt, teasing the tops of her swelling bosom. Gone was the accustomed skirt but a pair of black trousers, fitted nicely to her tone legs, and high-topped lace boots adorned her feet.

It was not uncommon for women to wear pants; his Aunt Catherine was quite fond of them, but seeing Elizabeth wearing them so she could move freely without being restricted by her gown… Darcy could appreciate much more of her figure as he watched her move about stealthily, stalking before she finally engaged an invisible foe with a jab of her fists— _one, two_.

What followed next was a series of movements that were beautifully choreographed as she twisted, turned, ducked, dodged, kicked, and punched in florid strikes. Her soft panting and sharp grunts were the only sounds echoing in the night as she danced the warrior’s dance to the music of her own warfare. Then, without warning, she pulled a blade from its hidden sheath in her boot, and continued her thrusting and stabbing of this merciless opponent.

Darcy was in awe before but this time it was something different. This time he was able to view the full blooded warrior in her training. She was marvelous, enthralling, and she showed no mercy as she deftly lobbed a rose from its branch. It was a clean cut with the floral head intact as it floated to the ground that Darcy could only imagine what she might be like in an actual battlefield surrounded by zombies.

She smirked, a hidden amusement to herself, as she looked at the fallen bud. But it wasn’t just a bud… oh no… it was a zombie head as she lifted her boot and squashed it with her heel. The tingling in Darcy’s belly was soon growing rampant and his irises darkened with lust. His body longed to be down there with her, to fight her and test her, to see if she was a really the equal he believed her to be. All he had to do was jump the railing, a short fall of ten feet, and…

He blinked rapidly, realizing Elizabeth had disappeared. Did she see him? No… If she had, then surely she would have alerted him that she knew. 

It was the dose of reality he needed to keep himself in check. If he had followed his instincts, then there was no telling of what trouble could have ensued. Moreover, what might happen if they were caught in a compromising matter, even if it was only a spar. Yet, the frantic beating of his heart betrayed what he really desired.

Spinning sharply on his heels, Darcy retreated to his bedchamber and slammed the balcony doors with a resounding crash. He didn’t care at the moment if it aroused anyone but all he could do was paced about in his room. The temptation to relieve his tension was too high and he had to remember he was a gentleman and _she_ a maiden. That aided him somewhat but Darcy knew without absolute certainty…

Sleep was not going to come easily.

xxXXxx

Elizabeth found the exercise quite invigorating. It was exactly what she needed to ease her mind from any thoughts of Mr. Darcy and his holier than thou attitude.

She stole back into her room and was pleased to see that Jane was doing well. At least it didn’t appear her rest was disturbed.

Elizabeth shed her clothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. Next, she pulled out her hairpins so her unruly curls could tumble down her back. She brushed them out until the tangles were gone and cleansed her face with a cloth so her perspiration would not make her appear barbaric. Once her evening ablutions were finished, Elizabeth crawled into bed next to her sister, resting her chin on the pillow as she listened to Jane’s deep, rhythmic breathing.

At last, she closed her eyes in the hopes of joining Jane in the land of dreams.

xxXXxx

Elizabeth immediately awoke to Jane’s erratic coughing. She hastened to light a candle before returning to aid her sister. The coughing sounded hoarse so Elizabeth went to the pitcher of water that was left for her and poured Jane a glass. Once Jane was sitting upright on the pillows, Elizabeth handed her the glass and encouraged her to take slow sips.

Eventually, the coughing subsided and Jane smiled gratefully for the drink. “I’m sorry for waking you,” she said.

“Jane, you’re sick. There is no need for apologies. Just get better that is all.”

The eldest Bennet sighed. “I cannot help but think what a burden I must be. But Mr. Bingley and his family have been so accommodating and attentive. I’m not sure what I did to deserve it.”

“Nonsense Jane. You and I both know that Mr. Bingley is half mad in love with you and will do anything in his power to see to your care. Besides, if he wasn’t, then Mama would certainly make sure he does,” Elizabeth teased as Jane let out a soft groan.

“Do not remind me! Although, I will admit I am happy to see him. I’m sure I must look an awful fright and yet he smiles at me so handsomely that I forget I’m ill.”

“True love, my sweet Jane.” With a gentle chuckle, Elizabeth added, “To be fair, I cannot account Mama for knowing it would rain, but I suspect, she might have had a hand in sending out those zombies.”

“Lizzy!” Jane admonished even though her eyes were twinkling with mirth. “Mama is desperate for a wedding but I do not think she would stoop that low.” Jane began to yawn and Elizabeth decided it was best to talk later in the morning.

“You must rest. Then we’ll be back to Longbourne,” Elizabeth promised as she pulled the blanket and covers over her sister.

“Good night Lizzy,” Jane mumbled as her eyes drifted shut once more.

It didn’t take long for Jane to be fast asleep and Elizabeth was left with the desire to sleep; however, she could not. She doubted another training session would help and it was far too late as it was.

Rising from the bed, she picked up the candlestick and headed over to the window. Perhaps counting the stars would help inspire a visit from Hypnos.

As Elizabeth began her quest, she caught sight of something darting below that diverted her attention right away. 

At first she thought it was an unmentionable that managed to sneak onto the estate and was up to get her knife. Then she saw the figure again but it was no unmentionable.

_Mr. Darcy!_

The man, himself, was underneath her window prowling the Netherfield grounds. His countenance was too far for her to judge what could be on his mind or why he was still awake at this hour, but what had her catching her breath was his unkempt appearance. In the short duration of their acquaintance, Elizabeth had seen nothing out of place when it came to Mr. Darcy’s pristine and immaculate presentation. He was so stiff, so rigid in his stature that she could not fathom how this could also be the same Colonel Darcy that people boasted about on the battleground. Before he rebuffed her, she overheard the endless stories and was quite impressed. But meeting him disillusioned her and she wondered if it was his income that led to the generous compliments.

Now, she was getting a glimpse of Colonel Darcy with his dark mane tousled and wild; his long overcoat was shed, leaving him clad only in a white shirt and black pants. There was no cravat as she could tell and the collar was pulled down to expose his throat to the elements. In addition, it was starting to rain lightly, leaving the shirt to being soaked. However, none of that seemed to disturb him as he raised his katana and proceeded to swing it around in a deliberate manner. 

Elizabeth, transfixed, could not look away at the masterful approach Darcy took. She could see the flexing of his arms as he maneuvered the sword very methodically. It was a union of man and his weapon, an envious sight to behold. Quick as lightning, he struck as the katana sliced through air and chopped off the head of a statue.

Her brow lifted in astonishment at how swift and clean the damage was done. She doubted if she would be able to recreate such swordsmanship. Perhaps Mr. Darcy did possess some talent after all!

_I daresay in this light he looks rather roguish._

Gasping, Elizabeth turned away from the window. Was she admiring Mr. Darcy’s looks in an agreeable way? True he was a handsome man but his character was wanting. And just because he knew how to handle a sword did not mean he was attractive now. 

_Remember Lizzy. Mr. Darcy is the one who believed Jane was a zombie and would more than likely would have killed her on the spot if one of those flies should happen to land on her. Disagreeable, spiteful man. He is arrogant and has no regard for the feelings of others. This is certainly not the features I would wish in a husband._

Finding the anchor she needed to drive away any further notions of Mr. Darcy in a favorable light, Elizabeth returned back to the window to see what else she might learn from his late-night training.

She refused to acknowledge the disappointment that he was nowhere to be found. And she was positive it was not the man, but the sword she wished to see again.

Regardless, Elizabeth did feel a little warm and hoped it wasn’t Jane’s sickness that passed onto her. To prevent any possible risk of becoming ill, Elizabeth took one of the extra blankets and curled up on a chair.

Resting her head on the back of the cushion, Elizabeth did manage to close her eyes and block out any further thoughts of Mr. Darcy.

TBC...

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is not something new I added to the story. I decided to split the story since it is over 15,000 words. This second chapter starts the following morning after Darcy and Elizabeth watch each other respectively in the gardens.

**Chapter 2**

The following morning was a testament on maintaining one’s sensibilities in lieu after perpetrating indecorous thoughts and conducts a mere hour before sitting down for breakfast. 

It was truly paramount when the inspiration of such vexations was next to one.

Darcy had no one else to blame but himself. He loathed such weakness, especially when he held himself to a much higher standard than most men in his situation. If anything, this prove he was as culpable as any other male. Therefore, he was not to be trifled with or exchange pleasantries when he was striving to keep his composure in check. It was proving, rather, to be difficult each passing second. Even the simple act of inhaling was a dilemma he never thought could exist. 

“Are you unwell Darcy?” Bingley asked good-naturedly. Of course, there was absolutely no reason Bingley could have known the torment going through Darcy’s head. It was not his oldest friend’s fault, yet Darcy could not hold back his retort, which he regretted immediately at his tone.

“I am  _ quite _ well,” he answered, the emphasis clipped and brusque. Bingley flinched but he quickly covered it up with a charming smile to inquiry after Miss Bennet to Miss Elizabeth.

Relieved the attention was removed from his person; Darcy knew he could have responded a bit more civilly since the question was meant as concern. However, his focus was purely selfish and it took every ounce of his restraint to remain in his seat lest he should embarrass himself. Although, it was a challenge when he was given the great pleasure of listening to Miss Elizabeth speak so favorably about her sister. Furthermore, it was a  _ herculean _ effort knowing that beneath the conservative muslin dress was a fighter with a  _ very _ agreeable physique. Last night’s viewing only increased his ardor and the fervent beating of his heart…

_ Knowing sleep was not going to occur, Darcy had to alleviate his mounting passions or else he was certain he would truly perish. The only form of relief that would quell these feelings was to pick up his katana and engage his own training. It would not be the first time that he would participate in late night trainings, but for the sake of his sanity, he must fight.  _ __

_ He threw on his undershirt and breeches, and quickly laced up his boots before picking up his sword. Feeling the grip within his hands, Darcy mentally steadied himself as his sensei taught him. He always felt in control with his katana and here he would regain his control once more. _

_ He decided on a different garden to practice. If he wanted to purge any thoughts of Miss Elizabeth Bennet, then he would have to go somewhere she had not passed. The tall hedges provided enough cover not to draw attention and there he began the basic of poses and cutting movements: up and down, right to left, diagonally, and reverse. Then he applied the advance footwork with each swivel and sweep, maintaining a firm grip upon the handle before he moved to quicker and faster slices. _

_ This was the only type of dance that Darcy felt comfortable in performing. There was no audience, no simpering ladies with their predatory gazes. Here was where Darcy could be himself without judgment or money hungry social climbers garnering for his affections. _

_ It was also a place where he could forget the horrible memories of the past. _

_ Exorcising his demons was a habitual routine but it was his burden to carry. Now, those demons were intertwining with that of the alluring siren with her fine dark eyes and light and pleasing figure. Blocking out the image of Miss Elizabeth should have been easy; alas, all his years spent with the great masters in Kyoto were falling apart and Darcy was starting to lose himself. _

_ It seemed no matter how hard he tried to resist her; Miss Elizabeth would find her way back into his mind and into his blood. _

_ Severing the statue’s head did provide momentarily catharsis. And he was beginning to feel the lure of fatigue settling in. Perhaps he might have some peace after all. _

_ Yet, it was only a reprieve for a few hours before his mind (on its accord) conjured Miss Elizabeth Bennet. They were fighting side by side at the Meryton assembly—her sisters, Bingley, the other guests were conveniently absent—and it was his katana and her Chinese butterfly knives that massacred the zombies. _

_ When the last zombie fell, he turned to see her blue satin dress covered in blood. Her countenance was glowing from the vigorous battle, those dark eyes burning, her bun falling apart, but that smile… The delectable curl of her luscious lips, revealing the front of her teeth, displayed her pleasure at such a victory. _

_ His own appearance, he knew, harbored similar dishevelment but he cared not about that. No… All he could look at was the Amazon before him, her blades drenched in the blood of dozen unmentionables, and her impassioned gaze that spoke volumes as she surveyed his person.  _ __

_ Darcy dropped his katana and lunged. _

_ Elizabeth, anticipating, dropped her weapons as their mouths met in a dueling entanglement of tongues and harsh bites. There was no tenderness, just the growing desire to conquer and feel. Her nails slid around the back of his head, scraping as she tugged on the ends of his hair, causing him to growl in approval as he pushed her up against the wall. _

_ Her right leg curled around his hip as his hand joined to lift it higher, pressing urgently against her core, Darcy moaned at the touch of her silken skin above her tights and garter. His lips descended upon her throat, nipping and licking, her excitement fueling his with every gasp and hiss spilling from her swollen and ravished mouth. When he reached the top of her breasts, Elizabeth practically sung her praises as he feasted upon her soft flesh. There was not a single inch he hadn’t touched, and as he dipped his tongue at the crevice, he greedily wanted more. _

_ She was bucking against him as he tore into the bodice, exposing what his hungry eyes wanted, and quickly latched upon the quivering bud… _

It was ill-timing that his misfortune alerted him to an unbearable pain in his loins that Darcy woke to discover what his dreams brought. He shivered uncontrollably as his mind recalled his dream Elizabeth writhing and panting his name that he possessed no sense for what followed.

It hadn’t taken long for him to achieve the pinnacle of his body’s demand. Even in the post haze of the intense release, Darcy could still feel the longing for her and feared there would be no end to this spell.

Mortification and shame came immediately afterwards. 

He hadn’t lost control of himself like that since he was in his pre-teens, and for a grown man to behave in a prepubescent way was disconcerting. At least he had the foresight to use his handkerchief to cover his plight so to spare himself the humiliation of the chambermaid discovering his activity when changing his sheets.

Presently, his overwrought libido was becoming too much of a distraction as he attempted to divert himself with anything in his sight. The temptation to drift back to Miss Elizabeth lingered and the teasing scent of her perfume—jasmine with a hint of vanilla—was overriding his better judgment as he shifted imperceptibly in the poor hope that it would add some distance between them.

Meanwhile, unaware of Mr. Darcy’s distress, Elizabeth was in a conundrum herself. While hers wasn’t as strenuous as his, it was perplexing nevertheless. She could not understand the feelings that arose when watching Mr. Darcy with his katana last night. Despite his state of dress or rather lack thereof, it was the masterful way of handling such a weapon that left her reeling. Indeed, her maiden sensibilities should have been more shocked at seeing a man barely dressed, but as it were, she flushed at the memory of his swerving arms and the swift strokes of the curved blade.

Elizabeth could only rationalized that as a warrior, herself, she appreciated his skill and that her feelings were nothing more than admiration and possibly envy. She could imagine the kind of power and thrill it might have in yielding something like his katana and longed for a go. However, she did not forget that it was Mr. Darcy who owned such a breathtaking work of art. She would rather face a room full of zombies than ask the disagreeable man for a demonstration. No doubt he would look down at her with his imperious nose and offer some unenlightening comment that her secondary accomplishments could not withstand the technique to use a samurai’s sword.

No… She much preferred her butterfly knives for their lightness and flexibility.

Contented that she had solved her quandary in regards to Mr. Darcy and his katana, Elizabeth went to breakfast with a clear conscience. Yet, her bravado wavered (just a smidgen) when she realized who she was to be seated next to.

Preparing her countenance, she lifted her chin as she coolly walked past Mr. Darcy and sat down when the footman pulled her chair out. She was determined not to let him ruin her good mood or the delicious trays of sustenance as she helped herself to a slice of ham, eggs, and toast smeared with peach marmalade. As she proceeded to bite and chew her bread, Elizabeth observed how taut Mr. Darcy was and how he avoided looking at her directly. His greeting had been gruff when she was announced unlike the cheery response of Mr. Bingley. Even Mr. Hurst was cordial in his indifference. Mr. Darcy was clearly in a foul mood and she surmised it must be because of her. He probably was bearing a grudge the other night for injuring his pride.

_ Let him suffer _ , she thought.  _ He will not get the best of me! _

Over the course of the meal, his disposition did not change as he spoke in monosyllabic words. Then when Mr. Bingley inquired after his welfare, his reply was so  _ rude _ ! Elizabeth was appalled at Mr. Darcy’s treatment towards his friend that she held her fork and knife so tight that she was half-tempted to drive it through his hand! Even if he happened to be unwell, there was no need for his abruptness.

“Miss Bennet, may I inquiry after your sister?” Mr. Bingley asked, redirecting the focus away from his ill-mannered friend.

Swallowing her eggs, Elizabeth nodded. “Jane is doing well as can be expected. She has some color back to her complexion and she does not suffer a high fever. I trust her constitution will be back to normal. She is a strong one, my sister, and I daresay she will have a laugh at how a meager cold brought her unabashedly down.”

“Yes I did notice her strength. I mean, she  _ is _ resilient for facing those zombies.” Mr. Bingley colored at his slip and Elizabeth found it promising that his regard for Jane had not changed the night before.

_ Good _ , she thought.  _ At least his relations and Mr. Darcy cannot persuade him. Even if her training was seen as subordinate to theirs… His heart is touched and that’s all that matters. _

Elizabeth knew this news would be most pleasing to Jane.

“I agree. Jane and her Shaolin staff are very well-matched. I confess I do not possess her artful way of wielding it. It requires too much patience to know how much force to use in order to disable one’s opponent or deliver a deadly blow. Even in that, one must know where to direct such a strike and Jane has bested all of us in that regard.”

“Does she have some compassion for the undead? Is that why she chooses a weapon that is meant to disarm?” Caroline rebuked.

Elizabeth frowned. “Well, in some way, we should. They were once human and our friends, family, and neighbors. It is a pity what fate befell them and Jane respects the idea that once a zombie is disposed that his or her soul is restored to Heaven. It cannot be helped that the innocent were forsaken on Earth but at least they will be embraced spiritually.”

“A demmed zombie is demmed,” Mr. Hurst replied obtusely. “God punishes those with the infliction and that’s that.”

“I have to concur with Miss Bennet. She is right that the zombies were people that we could have known. Good or bad… no one deserves to be condemned for eternity. Their suffering is enough here and I rather like the idea of their souls being returned to Heaven. There is hope to that thinking and we should hold onto that,” Mr. Bingley contended.

Mr. Hurst snorted derisively and went back to his morning wine. Caroline and Mrs. Hurst exchanged looks and shared an audible snicker. At least Mr. Bingley seemed to be vexed at their responses.

Only the discomfited gentleman on her left had not deemed a reply. Elizabeth presumed it would be a matter of time for Mr. Darcy to formulate an opinion, which she was certain he had one if his past prejudice was an indicator. Oddly, he did not voice his thoughts but was rather intently concentrating on the table-piece.

“What say you Mr. Darcy?” Caroline finally ventured; her intention clearly to get him to speak. Elizabeth felt his silence was unobjectionable but now that Miss Bingley entreated him… The room will have to bear his point of view.

Turning her face fully at him, Elizabeth waited with a grim poise at what would undoubtedly be shortsighted.

His umber eyes fixed on her, their expression an all-consuming acuteness that involuntarily had her breath quicken. It had been a brief glance but Elizabeth felt her heart aflutter in an inexplicable way. Then, with a jolting clearing of his throat, Mr. Darcy proceeded.

“While I can understand Miss Bennet and Bingley’s opinion on the subject, I do not acknowledge if such a declaration is viable,” his raspy voice stated methodically in its inflection. “Dead is dead. As for the undead, I can retain that the persons we once knew are already gone. All that remains is the former shell of their being—a body roaming aimlessly until it is returned to its proper place.”

“Is that all they are to you?” Elizabeth demurred. “A walking body?”

“Indeed that is what I said,” he passively reiterated. “Nevertheless, merely saying that zombies are a body might be grossly understating the predicament. They are forces of destruction and will stop at nothing to obtain what they want from the living—our brains. That and to spread their plague.” 

Her brow knitted. “Do you not think it possible, sir, for if a zombie was a former friend that they might not wish such malevolent designs? They did not ask for this existence so is redemption not an option for the lost?”

“The problem is, Miss Bennet, that if a zombie perchance to be a former friend, then it is wise not to fall for sure a trap,” Mr. Darcy said carefully. “Once they have succumbed, then there is nothing left of them but to feed. Our former loved ones have already left this world and the kindness you can bestow is a swift cut of their heads.”

“Well, it may be kindness, but I have a different matter of opinion,” Elizabeth countered. “For I had an intelligible conversation with one and  _ she _ certainly was not desirous of my brain. In fact, I am quite certain she was trying to warn me of the attack on Meryton but she never had the chance to finish her discourse.” 

Mr. Darcy’s mouth bobbed like a fish, his countenance filled with consternation as a faint trace of pink stole across his cheeks. His usual stoic demeanor had slipped to reveal some capacity for emotion, but as cursory as it was, he maintained his features with a slight raise of his dark brow.

“Be as it may, the risk was not worth taking. It was dangerous and incredibly foolhardy to think a zombie has the ability to be anything more than a mindless harbinger. No Miss Bennet. We must accept that the disease that brought us these abominations has taken the shape of our loved ones, and regardless of how powerless we might feel, they will never be what they once were. We kill them so we can live to fight another day and pray that someone else will be as merciful towards us if we should fall.”

Elizabeth detected a slight falter in his resonance but there was no mistaking the blatant disapprobation he felt about her actions. Despite what the good  _ Colonel _ had to say, Elizabeth knew she wasn’t in any danger with Mrs. Featherstone. Any apprehension dissipated when she seemed aghast about her appearance. That signified that there was cognizance present, and not the mindless state of being with an ordinary zombie. Besides, if Mrs. Featherstone was a threat… she would have attacked Elizabeth the very instant she came upon her. Her reluctance should have revealed another motivation that would require some investigation before blowing off her head.

As it were, Elizabeth was very of the mind to enact some violence upon his person. His condescending attitude was making her temper flare up and she was trying to decide if the butter knife would do the trick in slicing his nose or maybe the tip of his tongue since he was so fond of censuring her.

Darcy, on the other hand, had just discovered another predicament of the egregious sort. He was already struggling to conceal his regard for Miss Elizabeth, but her constant avowals towards zombies in their strong opposition were very…  _ titillating _ . He found the sudden rise in color upon her cheeks, the darkening hues of her cinnamon brown eyes, the slight parting of her rosy lips, the tiny tremoring of her nostrils all invigorating. It only enhanced her features in a favorable light that Darcy found his  _ interest _ stirring and his blood running hot. His cravat stifled him and his mouth was rather dry, and yet he was enjoying this tête-à-tête. He surmised that Miss Elizabeth must have felt the same for her fine eyes were alit with fervor unlike any other.

The other guests observed the friction between them, and it did not seem like it could end well for either party.

“I suppose the only way to resolve this matter is to have a zombie among us,” Bingley jested, breaking through the tension light-heartedly. “Of course, I know I shall not like to be a volunteer. It might as well be a mystery for now.” 

That seemed to disrupt the unpleasantness in the air.

Elizabeth looked away, partially in remorse for almost creating a scene in front of the man who she wanted her sister to look as a suitable wife. If she did not watch herself carefully, then his family might convince him that Jane wouldn’t be the right match. However, his friend was making it so difficult for her to keep her composure!

Darcy took note of her abrupt change in mood and perceived it as her sensibilities reminding her of the improper inference one might make. He did not wish to make her feel embarrass or have the gossiping sisters find fodder in this. He must be practical and assure Miss Elizabeth that her reputation was not at risk for any hint of indecorum. Furthermore, he believed it was best for him to leave the room so he could attend to his senses.

The scraping of the chair against the floor seized the room’s attention as Mr. Darcy stood.

“I fear I have some business that requires my immediate attention. Excuse me.”

He gave a perfunctory bow before turning on his heels to make his exit. The room was silent until Caroline offered a lamenting:

“Poor Mr. Darcy. He never takes a rest from all his responsibilities. What heavy burdens he must carry for England!”

xxXXxx 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. 

Elizabeth kept her vigil over Jane in between taking breaks to relieve some steam (and at Jane’s encouragement). She decided to stick to the less arduous physicality of her training since she still felt somewhat tense after the verbal exchange from breakfast. This was the part of her training that Elizabeth despised doing for there was little action and one that required too much patience and silence. It was necessary for her to get in touch with her  _ qi _ to restore her mind and body. However, Elizabeth found this to be a great source of comfort in dealing with her continuous wish to harm Mr. Darcy’s person.

The  _ Qi Gong _ demanded deep breathing and the mind to be in a meditative state, free from the busy and bustle, to find serenity as the energies from the Earth and the person balance each other.

To begin, Elizabeth sat cross-legged on a bench with her palms facing up on top of her knees. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her breathing— _ inhale, exhale _ —until her mind felt calm. Planting her feet on the ground, she rose from her seat and placed her hands firmly on her abdomen. Slowly, she lifted her arms by her shoulders and pulled them back so her face was towards the sky, and then folded her arms with her elbows touching as she bowed at the waist. She repeated the movement several times before extending her chin with her hands on her knees and drawing back in as she lifted her chin up. Like a wave, her body undulated as it continued to become warm and loose.

Elizabeth performed some basic arm and hand movements, rotating her wrists, as she fluidly moved her arms in a circular motion. She moved into the “embrace of the tiger,” which she rolled her arms inward with her hands shaping a mountain as she pushed out and then circled her arms so her palms were facing each other and floated them out and back in again before repeating the steps.

She was already feeling her tensions melting away as she became one with the wind. Elizabeth felt lighter, at ease, that she almost forgot why she had been so wound up in the first place.

“Miss Bennet.”

_ Drat _ . Opening her eyes, Elizabeth cocked her head to find Mr. Darcy invading her sanctuary and disrupting her meditation. In an instant, her mood soured and if she hadn’t been in such a relaxed state… she would have given him a swift kick in the chest. Alas, there was no other provocation that she could justify (other than annoyance) so she was resigned to civility as she dropped into a curtsey.

“Mr. Darcy,” she greeted reservedly.

When she drew herself up, Elizabeth was once more struck by his handsomeness. It was such a pity God had granted such refinement to one so undeserving, but there was something to be said about his skills in the deadly arts that made him bearable.

Under her scrutiny, Darcy clasped his hands behind his back so his fidgeting would not be exposed.

“What fine weather we are having,” he said after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” she agreed, although she doubted he came this way to find her and talk about the weather. “Forgive me but is all well with my sister?”

“Your sister…?” Seeing how her face suddenly transformed into trepidation, he realized his faux pas. He knew she spent majority of the morning and part of the afternoon keeping watch over Miss Bennet that for him to come to her in such a fashion and interrupting her meditation… Evidently, she might assume something was amiss. “She is well, I am sure,” he added hastily.

She was overcome with succor that Jane had not fallen into further danger. She would never forgive herself if something terrible happened to Jane and she had not been there to prevent it.  

Satisfied he was able to put her back at ease, Darcy commented, “I see you were doing  _ Qi Gong _ .”

“I was,” she stated, somewhat surprised he recognized what it was.

“Yes… Have you ever tried  _ Tai Chi _ ?”

“No I haven’t.”

“Ah.”

He continued to stand there without elaborating and Elizabeth was not sure what to make with this new subject he brought up. Was he trying to make her feel inadequate that her meditation was subpar?  

Then without further ado, Mr. Darcy mumbled a good day and bowed before taking his leave. She had never seen a person flee so quickly once an interaction had begun that Elizabeth wasn’t certain what to make of this development.

Frowning, Elizabeth wondered why he would bring up  _ Tai Chi _ until she remembered it was an advanced style of meditation in the Shaolin Temple. The masters offered lessons but Elizabeth hadn’t bothered since she was loathed to learn another way to meditate. How in the world Mr. Darcy could have known about it, Elizabeth was uncertain. As far as she knew,  _ Qi Gong _ and  _ Tai Chi _ were practiced in China. The Japanese students learned  _ Zen _ and it was slightly similar to the  _ qi _ .

Shaking her head, Elizabeth deduced this exchange was part of Mr. Darcy’s singular personality. At least he had proven himself wise to remove himself from a warrior’s line of vision so not to further perturb her.

xxXXxx

The affair at dinner was subdued. Elizabeth was exceedingly grateful she was not to be seated next to Mr. Darcy nor was he across from her. Instead, they were seated at opposite ends of the table. However, she could not help the niggling sensation she was being watched. Her eyes kept flickering in the direction of each table guest, but she could not seem to catch the culprit. At one point, she dared to look over at Mr. Darcy and he seemed engrossed with his soup as Miss Bingley prattled on about some fad in London. Nevertheless, Elizabeth was resigned to the idea that the sudden paranoia might be contributed to the distance spent away from Longbourne. While she had often admired Netherfield’s architecture, she was lately feeling claustrophobic within its beauteous walls.

The soup was removed for the platter of mutton, stuffed Cornish hens, beef cheek and stout pie, and various tarts and cold jellies. After spending the better part of the day with Jane, meditating, and fasting, the sight and smells of the delicious rich foods had Elizabeth’s stomach rumbling. She was determined to sample each and every dish when she was once more experiencing the strange sense of being scrutinized.

With her guard on alert, Elizabeth surveyed the room but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The footmen and servants tended to their duties and responsibilities without a look at the table. So why did she have this queer inclination that her being was on display? If Elizabeth had to think about it, she recognized that this has been going on lately since she arrived at Netherfield. Now and then she would get this inkling that she was being watched, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not seem to catch the offender.

_ Well _ , she thought.  _ I must play this at the miscreant’s game.  _

Giving the impression that she was demure and oblivious, Elizabeth kept to her meal and spoke when she was directly involved in the conversation. Fortunately, she did not have to speak much as Mr. Hurst was more inclined to engorge himself with the sweets and port; his wife, Louisa, was conversing with her sister and both women did not seem obliged to include Elizabeth unless it was necessary (much to her relief); Mr. Bingley was his lively self and all pleasant smiles and charming words; and Mr. Darcy was in his usual dour spirits. However, there was something about his behavior that instantly captured her attention and she committed it to memory.

For on his plate was a rather small helping of the savory pie. Perhaps his appetite was not agreeable, yet he would angle himself so he could scoop another small spoonful. This went on a few times but Mr. Darcy had not touched the pie already on his plate. Rather the amount seemed to grow! When it became apparent he had not touched it, Mr. Darcy would take his fork to push it around and even swallow some bites before he would reach for more. 

At that precise moment, Elizabeth was startled with a troubling thought. The pie was within her eyesight and could it mean…?

Keeping her eyes lowered, Elizabeth peered through her lashes in the direction of the pie. She felt she was being ridiculous at such a wild notion. Mr. Darcy?! What an idea! Before she could retract her thoughts, Elizabeth witnessed as Mr. Darcy reached for the pie and his keen eyes sought her immediately. She slowly counted to five for how long he maintained his inspection and then he was back to his original disposition as he murmured something to Mr. Bingley.

Ten minutes later, she viewed him repeating his encore of the meat pie and he added a couple extra seconds to his cognizance. She bit her tongue to keep her poise and not to draw suspicion or give a hint that she was aware of his unwelcoming looks. Elizabeth could only surmise he must be trying to detect some kind of fault to her otherwise “tolerable” countenance or he was purposefully trying to intimidate her in some introspective torture. If he thought he could make her cower, then he will be duly disappointment!

The courses were taken away and Mr. Bingley suggested a quick brandy in the study before retiring to the drawing room for refreshments and tea. The men took their leave as the ladies headed towards the appointed room for some passable task. Elizabeth excused herself to see Jane before the men accompanied them. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst didn’t seem to mind as she went towards the stairs to Jane’s room. When the two ladies were gone, Elizabeth tip-toed down the stairs and began to head in the direction she had seen Mr. Bingley and company take.

She was of the mind to confront Mr. Darcy for his impertinence and if he wanted to find a fault in her so badly then he should challenge her to a spar! Elizabeth was positive she could put that debate to rest and show him a thing or two if his pride would let him. Certainly a challenge upon his manhood would allow her the opportunity to cut him down in a figurative sense, of course. Although, if given the chance to cause some damage to his person, Elizabeth would seize it as her rightful act of revenge since he slighted her so grievously.

With the door to the study ahead of her, clarity began to filter and Elizabeth stopped in her tracks. If she were to jump Mr. Darcy, then she would be doing so at the risk in front of his peers; not to mention, she would disgrace Jane in front of her Mr. Bingley. As much as the warrior in her demanded retribution, she knew it could not come at the cost of her beloved sister’s happiness.

Loathed to relinquish her mission, Elizabeth knew it had to be for the best.

“Another time Mr. Darcy,” she whispered to the closed door. “Then you will be at my mercy.”

xxXXxx 

Unbeknownst to the peril that would have befallen him, Mr. Darcy was anxiously waiting the moment for the gentlemen to join the ladies for entertainment before retiring for bed. Not that he didn’t like Bingley’s company, but his friend was quite besotted with a certain lady above them that he would talk nonstop about her and whether or not she is coping or in want of comfort.

“I do know her sister insisted she is getting better, but I did perchance walk by Miss Bennet’s room and I declared she was still ill. Such a brave angel! She was all smiles and assurances that all was well. I have never seen someone so obliging when they are convalescence!”

“Be careful, Bingley,” Darcy warned. “It could very well be a trap to ensnare your affections.”

“What a design! I daresay there is not a scheming bone in Miss Bennet’s body.”

Mr. Hurst supplied a boisterous belch and that effectively ended the discussion. It was time for them to join the ladies. As they walked down the corridor, Darcy happened to get a whiff of Miss Elizabeth’s perfume and inwardly shuddered at the pleasant aroma. He knew it was unlikely for her to be in this part of the house but his preoccupation with her had conjured a very believable scent and he hoped he would not have to leave earlier if his base desires could not be contained.

The women were already underway in some type of employment: Mrs. Hurst was playing the pianoforte, Caroline was embroidering, and Miss Elizabeth was reading. At their announcement, Miss Bingley immediately went to Mr. Darcy’s side while Mrs. Hurst continued her merrily playing. Elizabeth could not hold back an amused smile at the misery that overcame Mr. Darcy’s façade. It was quite apparent that Miss Bingley set her cap towards him and her attentions were not at all reciprocated.

_ Maybe vengeance is better off with watching Mr. Darcy suffer under Miss Bingley’s affections.  _ She had to cough to cover her chuckle but continued her reading in the pretense to continue enjoying the show that was presented in front of her.  _ Jane will most definitely wish to hear this! _

Mr. Darcy eventually removed himself from Caroline and moved to sit so he might have the pleasure of observing Miss Elizabeth for the evening. Picking up a book, he opened to a random page and began the task of submitting himself in the story; whereas, Caroline not ready to admit defeat, decided to walk around the room to draw Mr. Darcy’s attention. Vexingly, he did not look up but she did notice the direction he faced was towards Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Elizabeth hadn’t expected Caroline to materialize in front of her, but appear she did with a strange request: “Miss Eliza, let me persuade you to follow my example and take a turn about the room. It is quite refreshing.”

“Well, I—” Elizabeth started but her decision was made for her as Miss Bingley took her arm, forcing her to rise, and tucking her arm through hers so they could walk side by side. The ruse worked as Mr. Darcy closed his book and was now gazing upon the two unattached women.

“Will you not join us Mr. Darcy?” Caroline asked in her insipid tone.

“That will defeat the purpose,” he replied curtly.

“What do you mean, sir? I insist to know what you mean!”

“Why… your figures might appear to their advantage while walking and I best admire them from my vantage.”

“How shocking!” Caroline cried. “How shall we punish him?”

“I can think of a few,” Elizabeth answered with her eyes shining in mirth. “Although, I fear they might meet with disapproval with everyone in the room. The best course of action would be to tease him or laugh at him.” 

Caroline balked. “Laugh  _ at _ Mr. Darcy? I daresay that is impossible. He is a man without fault.”

“Oh?” This piqued Elizabeth’s interest for her opinion on the subject was very firm. “A man without fault?”

Her inquisitive eyes were locked fully on his and Darcy was beside himself on how to account for his reaction. As alluring and beguiling as they were, he felt the strings in his pounding heart pull harder. “That is not possible for anyone. I have faults enough but I would rather my skills as a warrior to have the highest regard among my acquaintances.”

“Ah yes,” Elizabeth replied, her tone mocking. “Your exploits are infamous sir. Over a thousand zombies, am I correct?”

He confirmed his count was double now. “I have heard about your skills as well Miss Bennet. You and your sisters have slaughtered many a zombie.”

“We have. Regardless of the fact that Hertfordshire has been somewhat quiet with the unmentionables (apart from recent sightings), we have destroyed whatever has crossed our paths. As you can see, despite the lack of a Kyoto master, we have managed. One does not have to be terribly rich to afford the talents needed to stop zombies. Then again, I suppose some might see it as a form of vanity and pride to boast about their training and kills. It makes them feel they are invaluable to mankind.”

There was no allusion as to whom she was referring to, and while Caroline was quick to jump to Mr. Darcy’s defense, he was much swifter in his reply.

“Vanity is indeed a weakness. But pride… whether it is a real superiority of mind or offers protection to those who cannot protect themselves, pride will always be under regulation. I have faults enough, Miss Bennet. I hope they are not a misunderstanding as you seem inclined to believe. Although I do believe that every disposition does have a tendency for evil, my good opinion once lost is lost forever. Considering the times we live in, we must always be prepared for the worst in people. It allows a warrior like ourselves to make the tough decisions when those of a weaker constitution cannot.”

Elizabeth could not believe the gall Mr. Darcy had to insinuate that he and she were similar. Regardless to the truth of his words, she refused to acknowledge that they shared something in common. To do so would invite the possibility of an understanding and Elizabeth adamantly refused a trespass of that sort. Besides, she knew in his eyes she was beneath him so why in the world would he even say such a thing unless he was trying to bait her for potential mockery? It would fit his character since he had the propensity to hate everyone in his sight and point out their flaws without discrimination. Furthermore, he was relentless in his constant staring of her countenance that the dishonor he had exhibited demanded she enact some kind of justice.

Her hands fisted in the folds of her dress. Oh, the many ways she could disembowel that arrogant man! Master Liu was very detailed in the deadly arts and Elizabeth knew every vulnerable orifice and how to prolong one’s agony. She could have his intestines and other vital organs spilled across the floor in mere seconds. However, it would be quite rude to do so in front of one’s host and to force his servants to clean up a bloody and gory mess.

_ Think of Jane! _ She told herself. Releasing the fabric of her gown, she smoothed out the creases and picked out some imaginary lint. “I fear that is a grievous failing indeed to have your opinion lost forever. I see I cannot laugh at it. Tis a shame since merriment is needed in these dark and desolate times. As for the ‘tough decisions’ you say, sir, I do not see them as such. It is survival and nothing more. My sisters and I know what we must do and if one of us should be stricken… Then we will not hesitate to do our duty. For I have slain those of my acquaintance and the evil I’ve seen has been because of the plague.”

A mercurial gaze overtook his features, hardening him as if recollecting something distasteful. “Then you have not been acquainted with the world as I have been,” he murmured bitterly. 

“I suppose that is where our differences lay, Mr. Darcy. You and I are nothing alike despite our lethal abilities.”

“So it seems,” he said tersely.

“Well,” Caroline interrupted, releasing Elizabeth’s arm from her embrace. “Enough of this dreary talk! Louisa, shall we play a duet?”

Elizabeth did not break her eye contact from Mr. Darcy (nor did he) as Caroline joined her sister at the pianoforte and they commenced with a ditty to lift the spirits. The silent exchange spoke to each differently until Mr. Darcy was the first to look away. He could not expect Miss Elizabeth to understand his perspective unless he divulged his unhappy tale concerning his younger sister and one vile Mr. Wickham. As it were, he kept his secret to himself as well as another more powerful one that haunted him to this very day. Miss Elizabeth might think he congratulates himself on all his zombie kills, but there was only one in particular that he did not feel any joy or relief in committing. Not even his best friend Bingley knew the unfortunate circumstances that surrounded his dear father’s death.

Yes… the world was a cruel one. It was harsh as it was brutal and he prayed Miss Elizabeth should never know such rancor or be forced in a predicament where she would have no choice but to destroy her loved ones.

Elizabeth was astonished that Mr. Darcy looked away. He did not seem the sort of man to back down from a challenge and she filed away this new detail. What could have possibly happened for him to have a negative outlook on everything? It was a peculiar thought to enter her mind, and one she instantly felt the danger in pursuing. Admiring his skill was one thing, but to have compassion when he was purposely disagreeable was another. She had vowed to never have a kind word about Mr. Darcy and she was still keen on continuing that promise.  

The rest of the evening was spent in relative tranquility.

xxXXxx 

The clock struck twelve.

As the previous night before, Elizabeth could not find sleep. Thoughts of Mr. Darcy continued to creep up on her and she believed it was her failure to uphold her Warrior Code in all things honorable. While part of her insisted she could claim victory over the last word and the staring contest, the warrior in her knew it was not enough.

Mr. Darcy did her a disservice from the moment they first met. Her initial attraction waned once she got to know his character and even during the time spent in Netherfield did little to convince her otherwise. Her brain was emphatic on that resolution, but her heart tried to whisper its reservations. Elizabeth would not hear of it. She couldn’t. She mustn’t.

There was only one thing left to do. She had to reclaim what dignity she had and make it known to him that he was treading dangerous waters if he wished to remain alive. Insult the warrior, expect the consequences.

Slipping on her robe, Elizabeth had the good fortune to look out her window to find that Mr. Darcy was once again in the garden performing his nightly ritual. Her lips curved in satisfaction. This was the perfect moment to strike and without anyone to witness.

She stole away from her room, her slippers barely making a noise.

xxXXxx 

Darcy gave a good whack to a shrubbery with his katana. He knew he was better than to allow some woman get the best of him, and yet Miss Elizabeth knew how to push him to his limits. Her insolence alone would have been enough to disregard any further attachment or emotion on his behalf. If she had been any other woman, then his infatuation would have ended. However, he found himself captivated than ever!

“Damn her!” he scowled, cutting several branches and scattering the green leaves all over. As soon as the oath was uttered, Darcy instantly regretted such foul language. It was not Miss Elizabeth’s fault, but his own. It was he who could not control his impulses and it was he who continued to seek her out against his better judgment. And it was he who could not find refuge in his room when the intense desire to continue the same activity as that morning persisted. Not to mention how he almost exposed his  _ interest _ that afternoon when he chanced upon her in the midst of her meditation.

Even now he could picture the undulations of her body and the very agreeable manner she expressed herself once he took his leave. For he hid and watched her stretch and wanting so very much to be at her side and teach her some other forms in relaxation.

His voyeurism was incomprehensible. It was not befitting a gentleman or a warrior in the King’s name. Darcy hastily escaped before he made more of a fool out of himself. But his rationality could not help him and he found himself even more attuned with Miss Elizabeth than he cared for. He would have injured himself quite deplorably if anyone was wiser to his actions during dinner. Even the distance that was set between them could not prevent Darcy from seeking her out and his brazenness would have scandalized everyone present.

He was fortunate his embarrassing behavior went unnoticed. He dared not think what could have arisen if Bingley or his sisters would have gotten wind of his attentiveness. Surely, defending Miss Elizabeth’s honor under his roof would have put Bingley in an awkward position. In addition, his sisters would have discovered more slanderous and outrageous things to say in regard to Miss Elizabeth.

No…

He would have to keep himself in check. It was imperative that he dissolved any connection or knowledge of Miss Elizabeth. Perhaps he should take his leave to London sooner rather than later. As much as he longed to return to Pemberley, he feared that going to his estate would only serve to inflate his wishes that Miss Elizabeth could be mistress. As it were, he had already envisioned her situated in the vast rooms, including the music room and his private dojo.

Indeed, Miss Elizabeth will have to be purged from his existence if he ever wanted to have peace in his home.

Dropping his sword, Darcy rubbed his face in the hopes that it would somehow cleanse the torment that was currently residing in him. So absorbed in his anguish, his senses did not pick up the threat that lurked until he felt the sharp tip of a knife against his throat.

His hands lowered and to his astonishment was the tormentor that immersed him daily.

She was a vision of reckoning to behold—an angel of death with her halo of loose curls, the blazing fires of righteousness in her tumultuous eyes, and the baleful expression that would make any man fall on his knees for mercy.

But Darcy was unlike most men. He did not give into despair or fear of meeting his maker.

If Elizabeth was here with her knife held perilously close to his jugular, then she was here for good reason. He met her scorn with an unflappable expression and waited for her to make the next move.

“Mr. Darcy,” she said smoothly.

“Miss Bennet,” he returned.

The traditional greeting of civility in this rather odd placement was not missed upon them, but neither commented on the ludicrous setting. Making a jest was not the wisest of ideas in the present moment. And neither was in the mood to make light of it when one had the other captive.

It was also most unfortunate that Mr. Darcy should have taken noticed of Elizabeth’s attire.

Her white nightgown was almost sheer in the moonlight, casting a silhouette of her limber legs; her robe became loose most ill-timely, exposing to his sight, the swelling rise of her bosom and the lovely curvature of her collarbone. Not even the dainty lace frills across her décolletage could prevent the hunger from emerging on his visage, his dark eyes almost black and his panting barely audible.

The transformation from the imperturbable to blatant lust (or in Elizabeth’s innocent mind… repugnance) did not deter her if he thought he could subdue her with his patent looks.  _ She _ was the one who had been disparaged, not he. However, there was something else in his countenance that rendered her incapable of speech and it was then she discovered she was looking upon a beast that was starved of something that only she possessed.

Agitation did not cross her mind. Elizabeth did not feel fear… not for a zombie, and clearly not for this man. Yet, a new and unexplained feeling washed over her—the same exact feeling she felt when she saw him the first night here when he was dressed as he was and his katana had been in his hands. In the beginning, she dismissed it quickly but now… Now, she could feel her body on its own volition welcoming the feeling and her knees quivering as a heat began to spread in her belly and throughout every inch of her that Mr. Darcy laid eyes on.

The hand that held the knife trembled but Elizabeth kept a steady grip as she swallowed thickly, her heart racing with every beat. So loud was the drumming in her veins, she wondered if he could hear the thunderous roar, making her practically blush as a delicate shade of pink covered her chest. Her pert tongue dared to sweep over her dry lips that she felt rather than hear the rumbling in his throat.

“Sir, I charge you for making a terrible error in addressing me,” her voice eerily composed considering the rampant emotions raging within her. “It must be dealt with since you have been designed in belittling me with your abhorrence and disdain. Your actions at dinner were unacceptable and I demand you pay for the insult.”

She knew not who was the first to engage, but before she could draw blood, her lips were superseded with his, her knife forgotten somewhere in the grass as she threw her arms around his neck, pulling him close as he devoured her with a fervid tenacity that surprisingly mirrored her own. His masculinity filled her senses and the powerful grip of his fingers in her hair as they stroked and pulled her head, taking control and guiding her with every ardent caress. It was the compelling urge to breath that had Elizabeth gasping, throwing her head back in respite from the violent thralls that ensnared her so judiciously; she hardly had time to fill her lungs when she was drawn back into the stormy passions of Mr. Darcy, his tongue sweeping inside her—curling, thrusting—that the only cause was for her to retaliate as well.

An impassioned growl reverberated between them, the source unknown for they were both overcome with the rising emotions that threaten to take them to new heights. They each wanted to dominate for their personalities demanded that they should. Thus, Elizabeth placed her hands on his chest and forcibly shoved him against the closest hedgerow, taking the lead in their passionate endeavors.

Darcy could only acquiesce when Elizabeth’s nails scorched through his shirt, leaving a burning trail in their wake, her tongue eagerly dueling with his as her other hand pressed hotly against the bare skin on the back of his neck. He shivered when her mouth dragged across his lower jaw, her breathless moans making his physiology respond as he seized her hips and pulled her closer to the part of him that strained to feel her. His reward was her startled inhale as her eyes widened with bewilderment.

Her shock wore off quickly and was replaced with a zealous kiss that swallowed his pleasure; his body exalting with the same equal fervor as hers. There was no timidity to his Elizabeth— _ Lizzy _ —as she wantonly rubbed against him, eliciting the primal part in him that recognized his mate. For indeed they were cut from the same cloth, the same sword that drove them to perfect their skills in battle. The instant he saw her fight he was irrevocably gone. There was no denying that now. She was his as he was hers.

Darcy tugged on her robe, revealing the strap of her nightgown on her pale shoulder. Impatiently, he removed the offending article so he could latch his mouth on her skin, marking her with his ardor as he nibbled and licked his way up her sinuous neck, reveling that he was making her quake and groan with his touch.

Elizabeth closed her eyes, no longer able to keep them open while she was assailed with sensations that were too pleasurable with his ministrations. When the strings at her neckline gave way, she nearly fell backwards when his hand reached in to massage her breast. There was little time to register as his mouth followed next, and Elizabeth forgot herself as bliss overwhelmed her.

“Lizzy…” he sighed, his guttural voice vibrating on her naked flesh.

“Darcy…” His name a petition for something she couldn’t give voice to as she felt herself climbing higher and higher—

“My, what a lovely home you have here Mr. Bingley!”

Elizabeth’s eyes flew opened as she sat up in the chair she had fallen asleep on for the second time. Breathing hard, she turned to look over at Jane who did not stir at the sound of their mother’s voice.

Setting a shaky hand upon her cheek, she tried to reign in her palpitating heart over the disturbing dream she had conjured about Mr. Darcy. Kissing him?! Being ravished by him!? Mr. Darcy, the man she held in contempt and often contemplated violence towards?! That Mr. Darcy!?

She could not understand the meaning of such vividness, yet explicit it was and even now she was experiencing a longing she had never felt. There was no way she could have wanted to kiss him, to feel him, to know him so intimately when his very existence was punishing to those who knew him. How could she account for such shameless yearnings?

She flung the blanket off her shoulders and hurried towards the bowl and pitcher of water. Splashing the cool water on her very warm face, Elizabeth still could not get the image of him feasting on her breast, the branding of his hand on her person. It was wrong! So very wrong when she despised him with every fiber of her being! And to be so immodest in her costume and licentious! Where could have this come from?

She remembered thinking about confronting him when she espied him under her window. In fact, she was almost out the door when something told her to give up this venture. She had faced Jane and decided it was better to leave it unsaid and to remain at her sister’s side. After all, if Jane were to marry Mr. Bingley, then she would only have to put up with Mr. Darcy on those momentous occasions and never socialize with him beyond what was required. She knew she would not call on him like he would never call on her. There was comfort to that and she was able to find some solace in that if he ever tried to insult her again… She would punish him after her sister’s wedding.

However, her dream told a different story and she did not like the implications. Mr. Darcy was not a man she could ever entertain as a husband. Perhaps, there was something she hadn’t taken into consideration? But even inviting the possibility was a route she didn’t want to take, let alone pursue.

Taking a towel and rubbing her face raw, Elizabeth could hear her mother and her younger sisters echoing below. She worried what impropriety might be breached when there was no one to check her family.

She donned her dress and laced up her shoes. There was no time to put up her hair and allowed it to be as she woke. It was time she and Jane went home and her dream made up her mind that it was imperative. There was no telling what manner of nightly trouble could come afoul if she remained under the same roof as Mr. Darcy.

Once she had Jane secured in the carriage, she made haste to collect her trunk. Elizabeth tossed her belongings in and quickly shut the hatch. She lifted the handles with ease and began to make her way down the hall.

It was at that point that she should come across than none other than Mr. Darcy himself.

He stared at her as she did him; her face quite warm for how frantic she pictured him not moments ago. No words were expressed as it was evident from the trunk in her hands that she intended to leave straight away. For the reason for the hurry, he could not fathom but he thought the color upon her cheeks made her remarkably more handsome.

He stepped aside to let her pass.

Elizabeth did not look back. Even when the carriage rode away from Netherfield, she refused to look behind to see if Mr. Darcy was there.

The End


End file.
